


what's yours is mine (what's mine is yours)

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: teen wolf bingo! [18]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Banter, Chair Sex, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Future Fic, Minor Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, Sexual Humor, Vaginal Fingering, Writer Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-02 21:33:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10227935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: When Allison arrives home after a long day of work, Stiles intends on asking how her day was and devouring some of the chocolate chip cookies she's brought home.Allison, on the other hand, has other ideas.Thankfully, they're ideas Stiles candefinitelyget behind.





	

**Author's Note:**

> written for the "you’re sitting in my seat" square on my Teen Wolf Bingo card (which is now a defunct challenge, so that says something about how long I've been trying to finish this damn thing.)

Becoming a writer was never part of any of the various life plans Stiles concocted throughout high school and college. Forensic scientist, yes. Sheriff’s deputy, also yes, for a few months, before he realized just how much boring paperwork was involved. Vet assistant so that he could work alongside Scott, also yes. 

Writer, no. 

But as he drifted from high school to college with only the slightest idea of what we wanted to do with his life, watched his friends find the jobs they’d been dreaming of for years, he’d gotten bored. The campus newspaper had been looking for someone to write movie reviews, and if there was one thing Stiles could do, it was complain about or praise movies for money. 

It was supposed to be a part-time job for just the semester. He’d ended up sticking around for the last two years of his program because finally, he felt some kind of _direction_. 

He kept working for the paper after he graduated, supplementing with freelance work on the side while he pecked away at some short stories; sci-fi mostly, some detective fiction. Some of them have been published in some anthologies, which brings in a little bit of money. 

Mainly though, the freelance work and stories keep him from wanting to bash his face off his desk whenever he has to cover for the paper’s football correspondent, who has an annoying habit of skipping out on games. 

Overall, it’s not exactly a glamorous job, and there are days where he spends so much time staring at the computer that he feels like his eyes are going to fall out of his head, but most of the time, it’s kind of fun.

More importantly, the income it provides him is enough to afford the apartment he shares with Allison. 

On this particular day, he still has the apartment to himself; Allison’s a junior curator for the town’s history museum, and her hours are almost as erratic as Stiles’. He’s not even sure what time she left; he’d woken up just after noon, and her side of the bed had been long cold. She’d left him coffee and a note saying she’d be back as soon as she could, so he’d simply shrugged, poured himself a mug and set up shop. 

By the time he hears Allison’s keys jingling outside the door, it’s after six, and he’s managed to make some headway on something that might one day spiral into a novel. He’s also drank _far_ too much coffee, and his eyes are aching, so he spins around, rubbing at them while Allison unlocks the door. 

(He likes to make fun of his dad for needing glasses just after he turned forty-five, but with the way Stiles’ eyes are going, he’d be surprised if he made it another ten years without needing them.)

“You’re sitting in my seat,” Allison says as soon as she walks through the door, carefully hanging her jacket on the slightly lopsided hooks beside the door. Stiles just shrugs; technically, the chair _is_ Allison’s, a Christmas present from her dad, but it’s much comfier than his. 

“I’ll switch them back in a minute. How was your day?” 

“Good! I got off work early, so I stopped by Scott’s. Kira gave me some cookies for you.” 

“Man, I love that girl,” Stiles sighs, inhaling the smell of homemade chocolate chip cookies. “How’s her bump looking?” 

“Like a perfect little beach ball,” Allison grins, setting her purse and the container of cookies on the already crowded kitchen counter. “I took a picture. I’ll show you later.” 

“Why later-oh,” Stiles replies as Allison crosses the room and drops into his lap, legs on either side of him. “Comfy?” 

“Very," she answers, winding her arms around Stiles' neck. Her fingers scratch gently at his nape, making a shudder run down his spine. “How was your day?”

“Productive, I guess. It's definitely better now.” Allison grins again and leans down, bracing her forehead against his. She shifts in his lap, enough for him to bite back a sigh, and the way her tongue pokes through her teeth tells him it’s no accident. 

“Mine too," she says, ducking down and pressing her mouth against his. Her lips still taste like the gloss she must have slicked on this morning, and even though the taste is really nothing more than synthetic chemicals, Stiles kind of digs it. He drops her hands to her thighs and curls his fingers around lean, firm muscle. Her tongue gently flicks against his bottom lip at the same moment that her hips push against forward. This time, he gasps and when she pulls away, her grin has shifted to something closer to a smirk. 

“Happy to see me?” she asks, wriggling again. 

“I don’t know if happy is the right word for it,” Stiles answers, tightening his fingers on her legs. “Wanna take this somewhere else?” Allison shakes her head, braid shifting to dangle over her shoulder. 

“No, actually,” she says, scratching her nails against his neck again. “I think this will work perfectly.” 

“Alright,” Stiles says quickly, smoothing his palms further up her thighs, until his fingertips are brushing the edges of her underwear. “I can work with that.”

“I was hoping that you’d say that.” In one fluid motion, she slides off his lap and gets back to her feet. For two seconds, Stiles thinks that she’s about to walk away, and when he opens his mouth, all that comes out is a wordless whine, which he knows he should be at least a little embarrassed about. 

But when Allison reaches up underneath her dress and tugs her lacy underwear down, leaving them to fall down her smooth legs, Stiles’ whine stops in mid-sound. 

“ _Oh_ ,” he says, eyes dropping to Allison’s feet as she steps out of her underwear and kicks them behind her. “You have the best ideas.” 

“You’ve said that before,” Allison says with a laugh. Before she can climb back on the chair, Stiles rolls forward and curls his fingers around the back of her thighs. 

“Can I do something first?” Allison raises an eyebrow in response and steps between his splayed legs. 

“Is it something I’ll like?” 

“You usually like it,” he says with a shrug, sliding her dress up a few inches to the top of her thighs. “Although there was that one time, after Scott’s wedding-“

“We are _not_ talking about that,” she interrupts, rolling her eyes. “Especially not right now.” 

“Fine by me,” Stiles replies. He pushes her dress up to her waist, so that it won’t fall over his face. He’s already close enough to her that his breath stirs the close cropped, dark curls leading down to her core, and he only has to lean in slightly to flick his tongue against her clit. She sighs contently and slides one hand through his hair, down to the back of his head. She gently pulls him closer, and when he flattens his tongue and presses more firmly against where she’s already warm and starting to grow wet, her sigh turns into a groan. 

It’s not the best angle in the world, but it still does the trick. After some experimenting, he discovers that the best way to slide his fingers into her is to wrap his arm behind her thigh, just underneath her ass, and twist his wrist until his hand is in the right position. It’s not the most comfortable angle in the world, but thankfully, it only takes a few minutes of finger curling and alternating between licking and circling his tongue before Allison comes with a short gasp. Her fingers tighten almost painfully on the back of his head, and her hips roll continue to roll against his mouth for a few moments. He licks her through the aftershocks, until she jerks and takes a few steps backwards. 

“Too much,” she says, supporting herself with one hand on the edge of his desk. 

“Did I make your legs weak?” he responds, wiggling his eyebrows while trying hard to ignore that his cock is pressing against his jeans. 

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she replies, but the soft smile playing at her lips gives Stiles the real answer. 

“Too late," he grins, absently reaching down to adjust himself. He only realizes that he’s doing it when he watches Allison’s gaze lower to between his legs. 

“Take off your pants,” she says, voice low and steady. 

Stiles doesn’t have to be told twice. While he pops open the zipper and tugs down his fly, Allison slips out of her dress, leaving it in a puddle of fabric on the floor. Her bra follows swiftly afterwards. 

“I’ll be right back,” she says over her shoulder as she heads towards their bedroom. “Keep taking off your clothes.” 

“Going as fast as I can,” he calls after her, trying to yank both his hoodie and his tee over his head at the same time and getting completely tangled up. Thankfully, by the time Allison returns and drops a bottle of lube onto the desk, he’s managed to toss them across the room and kick his pants and boxers over into the pile of Allison’s clothes. Using his feet, he pushes the chair until the back is pressed against the edge of his desk, to lessen the chance of it tipping over or simply sliding across the room and knocking something over. 

“Is this still okay?” Stiles asks. “I mean, we can go to the bed if you want or-” 

“Stiles,” Allison cuts in, grasping the arms of the chair and sliding into Stiles’ lap. There’s just enough room for her legs on either side of his hips. “This is what I want. If it gets too uncomfortable, we’ll move. Okay?” Splotches of pink are flourishing on her cheeks, and loose tendrils of hair have fallen free from her bun to frame her face. Not for the first time, Stiles is struck by how _gorgeous_ she is, struck by the fact that he somehow managed to be lucky enough to have her in his life. 

“Yeah,” he says, not taking his eyes away from her face as he gropes out for the lube (and knocks half a dozen pens off of his desk). “Yeah, I can work with that. Condoms? Did you want one?” 

“Only if you do.” Stiles thinks about it for a moment before shrugging and shaking his head. While they’ve talked about having an open relationship, they’re still monogamous for the time being, and they both get tested every six months, just in case. 

The mess is another issue entirely, but they’ll cross that bridge when they come to it. 

“I’m fine.” 

“Okay,” Allison replies, snatching the lube from his hand and popping the cap open. She pours a liberal amount of lube into her palm before dropping it back on the desk. She rubs some onto her left hand and, while she wraps her right around Stiles’ cock, she dips her fingers between her legs. The slickness feels amazing, but the liquid itself is cold, and Stiles jerks slightly when her hand touches him. 

“We _really_ need to get some of that warming stuff,” he says, moaning when her thumb brushes over the head of his cock. 

“Definitely not,” Allison replies, sighing softly as she brushes two fingers over her clit. “Remember what Kira and Scott told us?” 

“Oh, fuck, right." When Scott and Kira tried warming lube, they’d both ended up with very painful, very itchy rashes, and that's not something Stiles wants to experience for himself. “Okay, no more talking about our best friends.” 

“Agreed,” Allison says and, with no further preamble, she slides forward and sinks down onto his cock. Stiles curses and immediately drops his hands to her hips and his head to the back of the chair. Even when she’s fully seated, her mouth is still at the level of his forehead, and she presses a kiss to the skin between his eyes before she ducks down to claim his mouth with her own. 

It takes a few moments for her to start moving. Stiles doesn’t mind; he simply enjoys the feeling of being inside of her, of being surrounded by slick, soft warmth. She nips at his bottom teeth and along his jaw, and he slides his hands around to her ass and squeezes, which earns him a hickie at the base of his neck. When she does start moving, it’s quickly; her hips rise and fall, sink and ascend. Stiles tries to meet her halfway, but he keeps sliding in the chair, and he can’t plant his feet firmly enough. 

To make up for it, he keeps his hands busy. He thumbs at Allison’s brown-pink nipples until they peak, he palms her breasts, he circles his thumb against her clit. It’s the latter that does the trick; Allison drops her hand to his and presses his thumb even harder against her, hips bucking forward at the same time. When she comes, it’s with a loud moan, and her fingernails dig into his shoulder, just on the right side of painful. 

When she moves her hand away from his, Stiles places his back to her hips. He’s close, but he doesn’t want to rush Allison through her aftershocks. After a few moments, she drops her forehead to his and starts moving her hips again, slower than before and at a slightly different angle. 

It's the new angle that sends him over the edge; only a few moments later, he comes with his mouth wrapped around Allison’s name and his fingers digging into her ass. 

For a few moments afterwards, it’s all he can do to remember his own name. Allison’s forehead is braced against his, and her breath is warm against his mouth, which she catches every so often in a lazy kiss. When he finally feels able to come back to the land of thought, he opens his eyes slowly, just in time to see her smile softly. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey,” he replies, shifting and immediately regretting it. His lower back and ass have become stuck to the chair from his sweat, and he hisses when his skin peels away from the leather. “We’re going to have to wash this chair.” 

“Yeah, I should have thought of this beforehand,” Allison says. Stiles hears the unspoken implication clear as day; if Allison stands up, there’s going to be a heck of a mess. Even if it doesn’t affect the chair, it might get on the nearby rug, which would require more clean-up than Stiles feels up to. 

Thankfully, his orgasm addled brain is still able to throw together a plan.

“Well, good thing this chair has wheels.” He shifts again, moving forward slightly towards the edge of the chair, until he’s able to get his toes and the balls of his feet planted on the ground. With a little bit of effort, he’s able to move the chair a few inches in the direction of the bathroom. Catching the drift of his plan, Allison grabs the edge of the desk and shoves, which moves them a little further. 

“This is absolutely ridiculous,” she says, smile only brightening as she giggles. Stiles nods in agreement. 

“You’re not wrong. Next time, we’re doing this in your chair.” 

“You mean _your_ chair,” she retorts. “Or did you forget that this one is mine?” 

“Maybe for a minute,” Stiles admits, resisting the urge to cheer when they roll into the hallway leading to the bathroom. “I don’t think my chair would survive us having sex in it.” 

“Good point,” Allison replies, leaning down to kiss him through a laugh. “I guess we’ll just have to move the chair closer to the bathroom next time.” Stiles starts laughing as well and lets his head drop against her breasts, relishing in her softness for a moment before the knowledge of how sweaty and sticky he is really sets in. 

“And that,” he says, “is why I love you.” 

“I love you too,” Allison replies, dropping a kiss to the top of his head. “Don’t you dare write this into one of your stories.” 

“Wouldn’t think of it.” He presses a quick kiss between the valley between her breasts before he sits back up, wincing as his back sticks to the chair again. “Go get cleaned up. We really need to shower.” 

“I’ll get the water running,” she says, quickly sliding off his lap and darting towards the bathroom. Stiles gets to his feet and pushes the chair back into the living room. The black fabric gleams with sweat, and he sighs, both contended and frustrated, as he studies it. 

He has absolutely no idea how they’re going to clean the chair, but he does know that he regrets nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
